


Freighter

by yeaka



Series: Sucked In [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Ficlet, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29161731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis is supposed to take Prompto to the showcase. Friggin’ Gladio.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum, Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Series: Sucked In [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141448
Comments: 26
Kudos: 105





	Freighter

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this

There’s exactly one day left on the Justice Monsters X exhibit—seven hours before the arcade closes for the night and it’s all moved to the next city—the replicated sets, the mountains of exclusive swag, the licensed cosplay equipment; even the voice actors will flitter back to whence they came, not one of them native to Insomnia. Noctis already tried begging Iggy to help him _order_ the whole thing to stay a couple more days, a week, maybe a month—but Ignis just lectured him on abusing royal power and told him to make the show on time like everybody else.

Which was fine, because Noctis planned to be there on opening day. Except Prompto’s heat hit on opening day. It took Noctis three hours to get to the front of line, even with Ignis next to him and willing to attest to his crown status. But then he found he just couldn’t go in without Prompto, because this is something they were supposed to do _together._ Sure, Ignis plays Justice Monsters X occasionally, but he’s more a fan of the original arcade game and just doesn’t get the same light in his eyes that Prompto does when discussing the infamously disastrous race tracks. 

Ignis has faithfully texted Noctis every morning since, reminding Noctis of the ticking clock just like he promised. Except Noctis hasn’t gotten a text from Prompto scheduling times, and he’s been too busy with his own awful duties to go prompt some. Then Ignis tells him on the final morning that Prompto’s heat is over, and Noctis doesn’t even question that Ignis keeps track of his cycle— _of course_ Ignis would know all of their cycles. Ignis knows everything. Noctis immediately acts on it. He doesn’t even wait for his advisor or shield to show up and drive him. He buses to Prompto’s apartment like the obsessed fanboy he is and bangs on the door loud enough to wake the dead. 

Sometimes Prompto’s vaguely dead after his heats. He gets all sleepy and snuggly and horribly adorable, and Noctis gets caught in his web and misses appointments and schooling and even dinner with his dad. Not this time. They’re making it to that exhibit. He’s going to get a signed picture with the dude who does the epic game over dialogue whenever cars blow up via friendly fire. 

Prompto doesn’t answer the door, which immediately sets off warning bells, because he knows Prompto’s hyped for the exhibit too, and Prompto _never_ ignores him.

He knocks again, a third time, and then fumbles in his pocket for the keys. He has all their keys. He doesn’t always have Gladiolus’ and Ignis’ on him, because those two are always around him anyway, but Prompto he’s got on all kinds of speed dial. He jams the key in the lock and twists. Prompto always says his apartment’s as good as Noctis’, even though they hang out at Noctis’ more. Noctis pushes inside, storms in, slams the door behind himself on sheer instinct and then freezes up.

He’d know what was happening even if the living room light weren’t on. He can smell it. Sense it. Can’t help breathing it in—pheromones are _everywhere_ , thick and cloying and so wildly, incredibly _hot_ that Noctis is already sweating. The room reeks of sweat. Of _sex_. Of seed. He can hear it happening. He’s overwhelmed by the wet, squelching sounds of Gladiolus’ giant cock slamming in and dragging out of Prompto’s pliant channel, while Prompto moans and whimpers and writhes in the crumpled sheets.

The two of them are smack in the middle of the living room. They’ve pushed all the furniture away. Someone—probably Gladiolus—has dragged Prompto’s mattress out onto the floor, and it’s surrounded in a wall of blankets and borrowed clothes. Noctis’ own T-shirt is poking out at the corner. One of Ignis’ purple blazers is woven near the back. Gladiolus’ discarded sweatpants are draped over the side. He’s buck naked, like Prompto, the only scrap of clothing between them the familiar green-white band around Prompto’s wrist. Prompto has both hands around Gladiolus’ broad shoulders, holding on for dear life while Gladiolus pounds the living daylights out of him. 

Noctis should’ve known. Stupid Iggy and the stupid council and stupid university stopped him from assuaging Prompto’s heat this time, and he’s seen Ignis almost every day—not that another omega would do much good anyway—so that only leaves one person. Or one person in their makeshift pack, anyway. Prompto talks like he’s nothing, but they all know he’s hot as hell and could have absolutely any alpha that he wanted. 

Apparently, he wants Noctis’ shield. He has his legs spread wide open, practically flattened against the mattress by Gladiolus’ hulking frame. Every time Gladiolus drives down, Prompto slides up, and then Gladiolus shifts away and pulls Prompto back again. It’s fierce, intense, better than any porno Noctis has ever seen—but of course it is; there are no porn stars with Prompto’s pretty eyes and freckles and messy blond hair, and _nobody_ has muscles like Gladiolus. Even other glaives can’t compare. The intricate tattoo marring his sweat-slicked skin only makes him hotter. _So hot_. There’s something unbelievably intoxicating about the way his taut ass cheeks flex with every thrust. The fact that Prompto’s already covered in both wet and drying white smears only adds to the fire. This clearly isn’t their first round, their second, probably not even the tenth. Noctis wouldn’t be surprised to learn that his shield’s been fucking his best friend non-stop for _days_.

Noctis is just as hard. Immediately hard. The scent all around him, the erotic cries, the exquisite view—it’s too much. He’s blushing hot, the alpha in him clawing to the surface—that’s not just any gorgeous omega, but _his omega_ , his best friend in the whole world, the only other person he’d ever put on his team for the jungle stadium level. The only other person he’d let put the unlockable bomb bobble-head on their hood even though Noctis called dibs the first day the game came out. 

Right. The game. The showcase. Signed photographs with voice actors and extremely rare figurines. He was going to find whoever tested the game for difficulty and berate them.

He takes a step forward. His knees are wobbly. Not weak, but tense, holding back—he wants to pounce. Wants to push Gladiolus aside and bite into Prompto’s pretty throat and _claim_ him. Then maybe peck Gladiolus’ cheek and worm his way between them. They could start a train. Noctis loves dick trains, especially when Prompto’s the caboose. 

_Justice Monsters X_. Limited edition promo codes. Cosplay, like the naga’s metallic bra he was gonna get and make Prompto wear in bed. 

Gladiolus abruptly lets out a roar, and Noctis knows exactly what that means, because he heard it the last time Ignis was in heat and they double-teamed him. Prompto arches off the nest and gasps, his voice hoarse and broken, his hands reaching back to twist in the sheets. Gladiolus pounds out his orgasm just as relentless as before, only to pull out at the last second and splatter Prompto’s whole body. White flecks splash over his stomach, slick across his chest, even catch on his cheek and sprinkle his face. He closes his eyes just in time. A new drop adds to the streak already clinging to the bridge of his nose. There’s a pool of it at his clavicle. Bits are even dried in his hair. It always amazes Noctis how much Gladiolus can come when he’s in full _alpha mode_ , which is saying something, because Noctis himself once filled up a whole mug in one round when Ignis didn’t want him to dirty the sheets. 

They both slump when they finish. But Gladiolus doesn’t pull out of Prompto’s fucked-raw channel. He sits up straight enough that Noctis can see the pink, puckered rim of Prompto’s twitching hole. Then Prompto’s head lolls to the side, and he seems to spot Noctis for the first time.

His eyes go wide, his face splits with a smile, and he flops an arm in Noctis’ direction, moaning, “Noct, dude, _please, yes_...”

Ignis has never been so shockingly wrong. Prompto’s heat is definitely not over. But then, Ignis is never wrong. So it must be Gladiolus’ fault—he inadvertently extended it by ploughing Prompto _too_ hard. 

Noctis isn’t even mad. He should be. He stares at Prompto’s handsome face, and it’s hard to think about some stupid video game. He doesn’t need to play other things when he can play with Prompto’s body. Prompto’s the only gold trophy he needs.

Prompto in a metal bikini top. He wants that. He sucks in a breath and mutters, “The, uh... the Justice Monsters X exhibit...”

Prompto winces. For a split second, it looks like he understands, knows he fucked up, wants to fix it too. But then Gladiolus gives a little thrust and Prompto gasps, groaning, “ _Ohhh_... send Iggy... Noct, _need you_...”

Life is so not fair. Noctis can’t be the responsible one. He’s not equipped for that. He knows he’s going to have to run an entire kingdom some day, but in the moment, he can’t even run his own hobby. Not when his sex life is calling. And he loves Prompto for so much more than sex. Their connection’s amazing during heat. All of Prompto’s barriers come down, and he curls up in Noctis’ arms like he belongs there, and Noctis gets to kiss and stroke him and _love on him so hard_ — 

Gladiolus grunts, “He’s not going anywhere; I’m not finished.”

He digs his fingers into Prompto’s slender hips, and just like that, rolls them over. Prompto yelps as he’s suddenly positioned on top, straddling Gladiolus’ lap, still very much impaled. His own rigid cock rests temptingly against Gladiolus’ chiseled abs. Gladiolus slaps his ass, and he yelps again, obediently rocking forward. Noctis watches his poor, sweet, exhausted omega try to keep up with such a virile alpha’s demands. He makes himself bounce on Gladiolus’ cock, even though it seems to be taking everything out of him. Gladiolus grins approvingly and gives his ass an appreciative squeeze. 

Part of Noctis wants to rescue Prompto, and the rest wants to push Prompto even further and make him cry from how brutal the sex is. Noctis swallows. “But... we wanted pictures...”

Gladiolus also plays Justice Monsters X, also not as obsessively, and he casually suggests, “How about you come fuck his mouth instead?”

“Yes!” Prompto instantly cries, turning a pleading look to Noctis, while Gladiolus takes over—grabbing onto him and starting to thrust up into him so hard that he almost bounces right off. He rides it out like a champion, shuddering and whimpering but _strong_ , resilient, such an _amazing_ omega— “Noct, _please_ , fuck my throat...”

Noctis is _fucked_. He always has difficulty denying Prompto, but he doesn’t stand any chance when Prompto’s begging like that. Naked, cum-covered, flushed from head to toe and already being manhandled. Noctis gets so entranced in it that he doesn’t even realize he’s taken off his belt until he sees Gladiolus’ eyes dart to his fly. 

Then he catches sight of the chocobo plushie on the couch pushed against the wall. A plushie Noctis won him at the arcade. Because Prompto loves cute swag like that. Prompto wanted the chocobo outfit from the festival DLC. He’ll be so upset when he comes to and realizes that he missed it all over a crazy threesome he could’ve honestly had any day of the week. 

With his last bit of conscious strength, Noctis fishes his phone out of his pocket. He texts Ignis: _Help_ , and prays that _somebody_ can keep a straight head and pull them all back to the waking world, because Noctis has a first-class ticket for the dick train.


End file.
